


prepare myself for a war

by CapnShellhead



Category: DCU (Comics), Detective Comics (Comics)
Genre: First Time Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, M/M, Rare Pairings, Religious Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-13
Updated: 2018-05-13
Packaged: 2019-05-06 07:41:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14637225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CapnShellhead/pseuds/CapnShellhead
Summary: Jean-Paul has a mission but he continues to find himself distracted by Lucas.





	prepare myself for a war

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first ever fic I've written for DC Comics fandom but these two just grabbed me. Please go easy one me but let me know if I screwed anything up. 
> 
> I hope you like it!

Lucas was beautiful.

But of course, he knew that. Had to with the way women fawned over him in person and in the media. His face was perfectly symmetrical, his skin buttery soft and brown. His lips were bowed, a soft, subtle hint of pink to them, darker than his tongue where it poked out to moisten them. He had unfairly long lashes, dark and curled, fluttering as he worked. His eyes were keen, clever as they focused on his work but Jean-Paul knew, if he caught Lucas’ attention, they would crinkle in the corners ever so slightly in greeting.

Lucas took great pleasure in speaking with him and Jean-Paul was never sure why. They were quite different: Lucas believed in science and himself. Jean-Paul believed in faith and service. Lucas was all about speed, innovation, molding the world around him to suit his needs. Jean-Paul, through no choice of his own, was molded by tradition. They shouldn’t work; they shouldn’t get along or have anything in common.

And yet they did.

Lucas came to Jean-Paul when he was stuck on a problem or he needed to take a break from the twisted, half complete technological concepts in his mind. Jean-Paul would sometimes find himself seeking Lucas out when he wanted to feel more like a regular person and not a weapon. Somehow, with everything stacked against them, they found a peace with each other. It was beautiful.

It was sin.

“JP? You okay?” Lucas asks, turning to look at him in concern. It was hot in here. The lab had a great air conditioning unit but Lucas turned it off momentarily to work on the internal cooling system in the Batwing suit. Jean-Paul made do; after all, he’d dropped in on Lucas so he couldn’t be choosy. And the heat didn’t ordinarily bother him. However, ninety degrees in the summer heat in Gotham City and beads of perspiration were trailing from Lucas’ temple down his neck and disappearing into his collar. He had a habit of wearing those low-cut tank tops the younger guys were wearing these days. His neck was shimmering in the lighting, his skin appearing slick yet soft to the touch.

Jean-Paul swallows, struggling to find the words. His eyes watch one stubborn bead of sweat cut a path from behind Lucas’ ear down his neck and over a collarbone. Jean-Paul’s mouth waters and he clears his throat, rasping out, “I’m fine. Just a little warm.”

Lucas nods, eyes crinkling as he returns to his work. “Sorry about that. It’s hot in here.” He shifts, taking hold of the hem of his shirt. “It’s getting to me, too, to tell you the truth.” _No, no, don’t do that,_ Jean-Paul prays but Lucas is pulling the hem up revealing a toned and sweaty abdomen. His abs contract delightfully as he pulls the shirt up and over his head. Jean-Paul’s heart rate ticks up and he crosses his arms over his chest.

Lucas’ chest was dripping with sweat; his dark skin smooth and mottled with scars here and there. His nipples were a darker brown, small and hard, as if begging for a mouth, for Jean-Paul’s tongue, his teeth. He swallows, trying to drag his eyes away from the thin cut of Lucas’ waist, the way his muscles moved beneath his skin as he worked.

Jean-Paul didn’t understand it. He’d never found his eyes drawn to a man before, at least, not like this. He’d studied the male form; had to if he wanted to take them down. He’d had to watch and learn the way the human body moved, it’s strengths and weaknesses. He’d been strictly professional and heavily focused, never letting himself drift from the mission at hand. It left a lot of questions up in the air but of this, he was sure: he’d never desired anyone the way he desired Lucas.

It was harmless and he told himself that to explain away the creeping guilt weighing down his bones. The fear that averted his eyes and kept him at least five feet away from Lucas at all times. The worry that kept his hands clenched into fists, arms crossing his chest out of the insane fear that he would reach out one day and ruin all of this.

“I’m almost done here, you can stop glaring at me,” Lucas says, flashing a quick smile that made Jean-Pauls’ stomach tighten. Lucas had a smile like the first rays of sunlight in the morning. Soft and sweeping in delicately; leaving Jean-Paul powerless to focus on anything else. He stares at Lucas in wonder before Lucas adds, “We’ll go get lunch in a bit. There’s a new Thai place I’ve been wanting to try. It’s in Brooklyn so you’ll blend right in with your hipster sweater.”

Jean-Paul should laugh here so he does. It staves off Lucas shooting him another worried glance but inside, Jean-Paul was unraveling.

*

Lucas drags him to another basketball game.

Jean-Paul still wasn’t a big fan of the sport but he liked watching the little victorous smiles on Lucas’ face when he accurately predicted a play. He explains his game once more but Jean-Paul fails to see how this could be very entertaining. Lucas buys him a soda and candy and a pretzel or two. It’s enough for Jean-Paul to look at him in question but Lucas puts away his wallet before it can become a big thing. He had a habit of going a little overboard with treating Jean-Paul to things. Sometimes to make Jean-Paul give him that patented glare that made Lucas grin in smug satisfaction.

Lucas calls out the next play and it’s proceeding exactly the way he described when the stadium goes black. Jean-Paul looks to him in question but Lucas is just as confused as he is. Jean-Paul stands, shifting in front of Lucas when there’s a flash of blue light and he finds himself face to face with the angriest set of green eyes he’d ever seen. It was like staring into hellfire and it takes Jean-Paul a moment longer to react, crossing his arms up to block the blade.

He wore his wrist guards beneath his sleeves and they hold up but he could tell that was an expensive blade. He thrusts up, kneeing the would-be assassin in the stomach but it doesn’t do much to dissuade them from coming in again. Lucas is contacting Bruce but Jean-Paul has this handled. It’s one man against the fury of a trained assassin.

An assassin that had quite a bit to fight for because he realizes this man has no desire to kill Jean-Paul. He has no quarrel with him; he’s trying to go through Jean-Paul to get to Lucas. Lucas who had still not found a way to go suit up. He’s watching the fight wide eyed and worried. Jean-Paul lashes out with his right fist and it’s less controlled than he would have liked but it gets the job done. There’s a flash of black, a splash of red and Batwoman joins the fight. She looks to them and jerks her head towards the back of the stadium where the crowd had started clearing out.

“Get him out of here. Bruce is on his way.” Jean-Paul nods and pushes Lucas towards the back.

“We have to help her,” he says with wide, determined eyes and Jean-Paul would agree except-

“Are you okay?” he asks, nearly touching Lucas’ wrist before he hesitates. Lucas doesn’t seem to notice his slip and Jean-Paul closes his hand into a fist to restrain himself. “Are you hurt?”

Jean-Paul shakes his head dismissively, making to go back for Kate and Jean-Paul grabs the back of his shirt and pulls him towards the exit.

“Come on!”

*

“These men weren’t looking to steal a couple thousand wallets, Azrael. They were looking to get after Luke. Batwing specifically. You’re going to have to lay low for a while,” Batman says gruffly and Jean-Paul turns to see Luke slumping down on his bed.

They were in Lucas’ flat. It was rather large and a little bare, to Jean-Paul’s surprise. What little furniture he had was modern and minimalist. Jean-Paul was sure this bedroom would be plucked right out of an interior design catalogue but it didn’t seem to match Lucas. Sure, he gave off the appearance of a sleek, suave figure but he was so charismatic and even warm. This place seemed cold.

He watches Lucas touch a spot on his forehead and pull away wet fingers and his stomach twists. Lucas had insisted he wasn’t hurt but he must’ve figured a gash or two was nothing. He watches Lucas pull his shirt over his head and turns away, his face warm. He lasts a few moments but he can’t resist stealing another glance, watching Lucas’ abs tense and relax as he reaches over to the nightstand for his communicator.

“Azrael? Azrael, do you copy?” Jean-Paul jumps and hurries to answer, his mouth dry.

“Yes, yes I understand.” Bruce cuts off the communicator and Jean-Paul sighs inwardly. He understood, he’d just have to hide out here all night with Lucas, shirtless in his bedroom. Just the two of them for an entire night.

Jean-Paul could do this.

He had trained to withstand much worse. He could handle this. It wasn’t as though this was the first time he’d had to restrain his baser desires. He closes his eyes and takes a few deep breaths; tries to find the peace within him. He loses himself for a moment, just breathing in and out carefully, clearing his mind of the scent of Lucas’ cologne in his nose, his sweat and the soap he’d used that morning. Tries to rid himself of the image of Lucas in the shower running those clever hands over himself, soap suds trailing down toned thighs and running into the drain. After some time, he thinks it might actually be working. And then-

“JP? You alright?” he hears and opens his eyes to see Lucas standing a few feet away from him. He’d stripped down to his boxers and all of Jean-Paul’s work was undone in seconds. He stares, face warm as Lucas looks to him in concern. “You’ve been quiet.” He offers a weak smile, “Quieter than usual, I mean.”

The little furrow in his brow does Jean-Paul in; it wasn’t often Lucas looked uncertain. He pastes a smile on his face and says, “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

 

What Jean-Paul meant was “Let’s get that gash on your forehead taken care of.” What Lucas heard was “Let’s break out the first aid kit and then hop in the shower.” Jean-Paul paced the length of Lucas’ bedroom several times, stomach in knots as he listened to the water run. The thing about Lucas’ fancy flat was that it had a fairly open floor plan. He’d left the door to the bathroom open and almost every spot in the bedroom left the shower stall in plain view.

The transparent shower stall in the middle of the bathroom.  
Water rained down from the chrome showerhead as Lucas took hold of the soap and lathered up his hands. Errant suds trailed down over the broad panes of his back and washed over the firm muscles of his ass, his strong thighs. Jean-Paul squeezed his eyes shut and turned around, holding himself as he tried to focus on anything else. He could try working on the case: someone had come after Lucas, well Batwing. He should try to recall any details from the attack.

Although, he wasn’t sure what good it would do seeing as Batman was already out there investigating. The world’s greatest detective probably had the task well in hand and, while efficient, Jean-Paul had always been better suited for hands on work rather than lurking in the shadows gathering information. Which meant he was perfectly suited to stay right here and continue to protect Lucas.

He goes back over the flat, checking the locks and windows. He does some light stretching, tries meditating to clear his mind. He can hear the shower. He can hear the change in pressure, the little sounds as Lucas moves around. Jean-Paul finds himself back in the bedroom, his heart pounding as he focuses on the dark, floor length windows. Lucas’ room was so out in the open, appearing as though a few steps forward would drop Jean-Paul into the darkened city below. He had no doubt Lucas made sure outsiders couldn’t see in but the effect was the same.

He’s watching a storm start up, cracks of thunder illuminating his face when the shower shuts off. A few moments pass before he hears, “Sorry about that. I had broken glass in places I don’t want to talk about.” Jean-Paul’s stomach tightens but he makes himself turn. He was anything but a coward.

Luke stands in the doorway to the bathroom, his back bathed in light. Trails of water run down his toned stomach and disappear into the white terry cloth of the towel around his waist. He breathes softly, a lazy smile on his face and Jean-Paul wants him.

He wants to reach out and touch him so badly that his hands shake.

But he can’t.

Because he had a job to do. He had a team to worry about. Most importantly, Lucas wouldn’t want this. Jean-Paul may be having a meltdown internally but there was no sign the ideas rolling through his mind had ever occurred to Lucas. For all Jean-Paul knew, Lucas had never so much as thought about another man.

 _Neither did you until you met Lucas_ , he thought.

He covers his face and groans. Lucas steps closer, his bare feet on the hardwood. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Jean-Paul replies hoarsely, pulling his hands down to see Lucas standing rather close. Closer than he’d been in weeks and Jean-Paul is nervous enough to add more when Lucas’ scent wafts through the air. He’s warm, his skin appearing buttery soft to the touch and the scent of his skin and the soap he used is nearly overwhelming. Jean-Paul stares at him ponderously, his hands shaking with the desire to touch and he says, “You frighten me.”

Lucas’ eyes widen, a hint of pain in them. “I do?” He licks his lips, the sight sending a flash of heat down Jean-Paul’s spine. “Have I done something wrong?”

“No, no of course not,” he insists. “It is me that is wrong. I’ve… I’ve found myself,” he struggles for the words, “ _beholden_ to you.”

Lucas frowns at him, his hands reaching out as if to touch and Jean-Paul wants so badly to stand still but he forces himself back. “JP – Jean-Paul,” he corrects and it’s the distance of his formal name that weakens Jean-Paul’s knees. “I’m not sure what that means?”

“Lucas,” he began before he loses his nerve. Lucas stares at him in confusion but so, _so_ eager to understand. So eager to help in some way, as if this was his problem and it was in this moment that Jean-Paul understands. This isn’t just a base, primal urge to touch Lucas and bring him pleasure. It wasn’t just the years of abstaining that led him here.

Standing before Lucas, seeing the worry and hesitance on his face leads Jean-Paul down a very different, much more frightening path. What if he wasn’t just physically attracted to Lucas? What if this was something much deeper? And he didn’t know how to stop it; he didn’t know how to keep himself from falling in further.

 _It would come to nothing_ , he tells himself.

“Jean-Paul?” he asks in concern and Jean-Paul takes a deep breath.

“I… I made a vow. I served St. Dumas and while I am doing my best to find my own way, there are things I cannot be,” he explains quietly. The rain patters against the windows as Lucas crosses his arms. He’d been reaching out, trying to offer Jean-Paul some comfort through touch. It was just the way he was. “You asked for none of it and I just… I need time to get my head in the right place.”

“You’re speaking in code,” Lucas says and offers a small smile. “And for once, not one I understand.”

He was not a coward, “I’ve been having… untoward feelings about you.” He swallows, his face warming. “Your body, specifically. I – I can’t explain it but sometimes I look at you and I want to – to,” he trails off into an embarrassed silence. Lucas’ eyes were almost comedically wide, his skin drying in the cool air. He had to be cold standing there in only a towel. And yet, he wasn’t moving to get dressed.

“You – you’re attracted to me?” he asks disbelievingly. “Is that what this is?”

Jean-Paul presses his lips together and nods quietly. Then Lucas stifles a laugh, his eyes bright with amusement, “Is that it? That’s why you’ve been so weird around me for the past two weeks?” He turns, his hands on his hips as he adds, “I thought you were mad at me.”

Jean-Paul frowns, “Why?”

“Well, you stopped talking to me as much and I was giving you some of my best material. I thought maybe I just wasn’t as funny as I thought I was but then you stopped looking at me.” He flashes Jean-Paul a quick smile, “I’m relieved actually.”

Jean-Paul stares on in confusion, “I don’t understand.”

Lucas’ eyes soften as he turns to face Jean-Paul head on. “Is this some – some religious thing? Is it that I’m a man and you’re not allowed to,” he trails off uncomfortably and Jean-Paul would very much like to avoid this conversation but it seemed key to answer the inquiry.

“You know better than anyone else that I am doing my best to become my own person. It isn’t,” he squeezes his eyes shut. “It isn’t your gender that makes this unacceptable.”

“Unacceptable?” Lucas repeats, his eyes wide with hurt and this was precisely what Jean-Paul had been trying to avoid.

“I can’t – I’m not equipped to do this.” Lucas comes in closer, the scent of soap in the air surrounding Jean-Paul until every breath made it harder to resist touching him. He was so close, his eyes soft and curious as he waits for Jean-Paul to finish. “I’m– I…” he trails off helplessly and Lucas understands. He understands what Jean-Paul is still struggling to accept.

“You’re beholden to me,” he says, brow furrowing. He reaches out for Jean-Paul’s hand and asks, “May I?” Jean-Paul is powerless to do anything more than nod helplessly, his heart pounding as Lucas takes his hand and pulls it towards his chest. Jean-Paul’s stomach tightens in anticipation as the warmth from Lucas’ chest spreads to his fingers and then they’re touching. His palm rests flat against Lucas’ soft, warm skin and Jean-Paul feels unusually warm. Lucas holds him there, his hand flat against the back of Jean-Paul’s as he holds his gaze.

“This is okay, isn’t it?” he asks quietly, his voice low in the dim room. Illuminated only by the light trailing in from the bathroom and the small table lamp in the corner, this room felt secluded. It felt almost safe for Jean-Paul to muster the courage to trail his fingers over Lucas’ chest curiously. He swallows, tracing over the curves of Lucas’s pectorals, the pad of a finger brushing Lucas’ nipple and startling a gasp out of him. Jean-Paul looks to him in question as Lucas smiles and replies, “Just sensitive. It’s okay, you can touch me.” Jean-Paul traces the planes of his chest and starts down towards the cut lines of his abs. Lucas was in fantastic shape and he clearly worked hard at it.

His thumb slides over the top of the terry cloth and there’s a crack of thunder outside. He startles, stepping back at the same time Lucas reaches for him. He reaches up to touch Jean-Paul’s face, tips his chin up so their eyes meet. “It’s okay,” he whispers, his face closer than it had been moments before. His breath is warm on Jean-Paul’s lips. “You can have me.”

The moment their lips touch, the room illuminates with a blinding flash of lightning. The storm raged on outside with the wrath of God as Jean-Paul lost himself in the wet heat of Lucas’ mouth. He tasted of toothpaste, the first slide of his tongue leaving Jean-Paul lightheaded. Lucas let Jean-Paul take the lead, unwilling to push least he chase Jean-Paul away. It would be easy to take the storm as a sign; every brush of their mouths drew more and more mire from the darkened sky above. It would be so easy to take the violent cracks of thunder as a reason to fall back on his better judgment.

Instead, his feet brush across the carpet and he finds them edging closer to the bed. He finds himself as the inciter, pushing Lucas back towards the bed. Lucas goes, chasing after every warm slide of Jean-Paul’s mouth, eagerly sucking on his tongue as he falls back against the pillows and welcomes Jean-Paul on top of him.

Jean-Paul had given in; he’d given up. He’d taking the first sip of manna and he might as well allow himself to fall in deep. This was sin; this was forbidden. It was covetous and he feels the control slip bit by bit until he could barely hear the rage outside the window. He could barely hear his own heartbeat pounding urgently in his chest. He couldn’t focus on anything but Lucas’ soft skin beneath his hands, their mouths joined and every soft intake of breath.

His hand slides over a hard nipple and Lucas bucks up, his towel slipping and the brush of Jean-Paul’s rugged jeans against the inside of his thigh draws a moan from Lucas’ lips. It stokes the arousal pooling in his stomach and Jean-Paul slides a palm down to pet the skin soothingly and Lucas’ gasps his name. They were playing a dangerous game; the towel holding together by a prayer but if they removed it, if Jean-Paul ripped it away…

He would lose himself here and he didn’t know if he would find his way back.

“Lucas,” he murmurs. “Lucas,” he says, his eyes opening to see Lucas staring up at him, eyes blown wide.

“What is it?” he asks, his lips wet and a little bruised from use. It tightens Jean-Paul’s stomach but he forces himself to focus.

“If we – are we… I don’t know how this goes,” he finishes quietly and Lucas smiles.

“Neither do I,” he admits. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.” A pause, “But if it’s okay with you, I’d like to touch you. All of you,” he says.

Jean-Paul eyes him for a moment, trying to let Lucas’ voice distract him from the heavy rains outside. His heartbeat was loud in his ears, the twisted swirl of arousal in his belly urging him to go on, to keep taking. He’d waited so long, he’d tried to push it down but he’d ended up here anyway. What was he waiting for? Lucas swipes his tongue over his lips and shifts ever so slightly and it saves Jean-Paul having to make the call.

Lucas was hard. His erection is pressing up needfully beneath the towel and pressing into Jean-Pauls’ stomach. He needed to be touched and Jean-Paul could go. He could leave the bedroom and spend the night on the couch, a comfortable distance away and try to forget about the mistake he’d almost made.

Or he could stay here and make love to him. He could slide past that final barrier and know Lucas intimately, in every way he hadn’t allowed himself to want. In the end, it wasn’t a hard choice to make.

He crushes their mouths together and rips Lucas’ towel away. His cock falls back against his stomach, needy and dribbling precome from the tip. Jean-Paul lets Lucas pull his sweater up and over his head before joining their mouths together once more. Lucas groans softly, running his hands over Jean-Paul’s chest. Jean-Paul supposes his body was appealing to Lucas as well: he was in good shape and he had the utmost control over his body.

Lucas tugs at his zipper and Jean-Paul admits that control may have gotten lost in the shuffle here. He slides out of his jeans and his hard cock slides along Lucas’ belly. He sighs into Lucas’ mouth, rolling his hips forward as a loud burst of thunder shakes the windows. Lucas pants, hands sliding down to cup Jean-Paul’s ass as they slide against each other.

“Can I? Is it, can I touch you?” Lucas asks and Jean-Paul isn’t sure why he’s only now asking for permission when Jean-Paul had allowed him everything but he nods anyway. Then Lucas takes hold of his cock and he understands. Lucas strokes him briskly, grip tightening with every stroke and it’s like being herded towards a cliff. Jean-Paul tugs his mouth away, stomach tightening as he feels himself creeping towards the edge.

“Luke- Lucas,” he moans, holding on tight as Lucas worked him. He closes his eyes against the storm, against the soft longing on Lucas’ face and buries his nose in Lucas’ neck. His scent was strongest here, the mix of soap and sweat, salt on Jean-Paul’s tongue as his mouth falls open and he pants. Gives himself over to the strong hands holding him close, drawing ragged moans from his lips. Lucas works him with that same focus and care he gave to his creations.

He molds Jean-Paul into something new entirely, something real, something that was his alone.

“Lucas,” he pants and Lucas nuzzles into his ear.

“Yeah, just like that. Come for me,” he urges and Jean-Paul wants so badly to obey. “Come for me, baby.”

It’s like a shock to his system, the near painful tension as his stomach tightens, his toes curl and Jean-Paul spills over Lucas’ fist and stomach. His vision whites out, eyes wet as he whispers Lucas’ name in thanks, as a benediction, his salvation. He falls, loses himself over the edge as his cock pulses and gives Lucas everything he had to give. Every last drop, every last bit that kept him whole and entirely his own.

Jean-Paul gives himself over freely, to the reward of Lucas’ soft kisses to his throat and lips. He takes Jean-Paul’s tongue as he works him through it before he pulls back to taste Jean-Paul’s release. It was sinful, even more so than what they had just done and yet, Jean-Paul can’t resist opening his eyes to watch. The hungry weight of Lucas’ gaze as he slide the messy fingers into his mouth and cleaned them one by one.

He slides the clever hand through the mess on his stomach and took hold of himself. Jean-Paul watches helplessly as Lucas’ eyes flutter closed and he slowly pumps his fist. He was dripping messily along his stomach, adding to Jean-Paul’s release. He had marked Lucas and he could wash it away later but Jean-Paul would always remember this. He would always remember Lucas’ stomach tensing, slick with Jean-Paul’s come as he pushed into his hand. It was messy, it was wrong, even without Jean-Paul’s vows hanging over their heads, it was ill advised.

It was beautiful.

Gazing upon Lucas’ figure in the dim light, flashes of lighting illuminating the shadows on his face, the only word that comes to mind is: beautiful. His plush, bruised lips caught between his perfect teeth, his long lashes fluttering as a little furrow formed between his brows. He was desperate, his hips working rather roughly as he chases his orgasm and as much as Jean-Paul wanted to observe him pleasuring himself, there is something he wants more.

He lowers himself to the end of the bed and rasps, “Can I?” Lucas’ hand slows, opening his eyes hazily. “Can I taste?” he asks and Lucas moans softly, nodding in disbelief. Jean-Paul carefully pulls his hands away and takes hold of the firm length. If he was being honest, Jean-Paul had imagined what it would be like to know this part of Lucas. He was long, thick and dribbling from the tip. A bead of precome slides down the veiny underside and Jean-Paul dives in for a taste.

The first slide of his tongue draws a gasp from Lucas’ lips. It’s bitter but that was to be expected, Jean-Paul supposes. He follows the trail to the head and slides his tongue over it, dipping into the slit even as Lucas shakes beneath him. He was like a livewire of tension, trying to hold still as Jean-Paul drops his mouth over the head. He went slow, aware that he had no idea what he was doing; only that he wanted to do it.

He wanted to draw more of Lucas’ cock into his mouth. He wanted to make him shiver, his thighs tense with the rising tide. He wanted to suck ardently on the head and hear Lucas’ steady stream of encouragements and broken curses. He’d carved out a new role for himself and found comfort in the service. He strokes the length he can’t fit into his mouth as he sucks. Lucas grips the sheets, his jaw tipping up as his head falls back and his hips buck. Jean-Paul can feel him getting close, his body tighter than a bowstring and he builds a rhythm sliding his mouth over the length.

A crack of thunder, a flash of lightning, a loss of control and Lucas’ hands find their way to Jean-Paul’s hair. He grips it lightly, in warning, in thanks and Jean-Paul’s dedication is rewarded with a wash of come sliding over his tongue. His eyes fall closed, taking Lucas in further as the head pulses and spills more. He groans softly, nearly missing Lucas’ soft whispers. Swallowing softly as Lucas murmurs, “Thank you. Chri- so good, baby. So good.” The gratitude washes over Jean-Paul like a wave and he milks Lucas’ release into his mouth, laving over him in worship.

When he pulls off with a soft sound, Lucas is watching his lazily, almost awed. Jean-Paul pulls a smile from somewhere, insides melting as Lucas gestures for him to come up. He takes Jean-Paul into his arms and kisses his jaw, the small space behind his ear. “You okay?” he asks.

Jean-Paul wants to say “yes”. Wants so badly just relax here and enjoy it but he felt guilty. “I feel… strange,” he answers finally and Lucas strokes his back, working magic through soft touches and comforts.

“Not in a bad way, I hope.”

“No,” Jean-Paul says honestly. “This is selfish. I am a soldier. Like it or not, that is what I am. I had a purpose here and while that has shifted, this between us… how I feel could distract from my job.”

He looks Lucas in the eye and finds a worried frown there. “I’m here, too. I have a job.”

Jean-Paul nods, “It is not the same.” Another flash of lightening and Jean-Paul wonders yet again if he’d broken something sacred.

“You wanted to learn what it was to be a more,” he stumbles and Jean-Paul knows he’d refrained from saying “normal”. “Common person. More like us. This job… what we do is important. It’s the most important task I’ve ever taken on but that doesn’t mean I can’t allow myself to get close to someone. We protect this city so that others can live… I fight so you can have the life you always wanted. I’m sure that doesn’t entail being lonely for the rest of your life.”

“You and I have different goals in mind,” he says quietly. “I should not take pleasure in my penance.”

It gives Lucas pause, his hands halting before he reaches up and tilts Jean-Paul’s mouth towards him. His eyes are firm, unwavering, “In my experience, _living_ is the best way to demonstrate that you’re your own man and not what others made you into. You triumph over them a little more every day that you prove you can make your own choices; you can change.”

Jean-Paul’s eyes widen, resolve wavering as he loses himself in Lucas’ certainty. The next crack of thunder makes him tense but Lucas never wavers. He leans in and takes Jean-Paul’s mouth, the taste of his own release drawing a surprised moan from Jean-Paul’s lips. When he pulls back, Jean-Paul rests his cheek on his chest and he strokes his back.

The storm quiets, paling in comparison to Lucas’ soft encouragement as Jean-Paul closes his eyes and embraces the fall.

**Author's Note:**

> I had this idea that Ascalon would accuse Azrael of committing a different sin.


End file.
